


Turian noses, and other matters of significant importance.

by spectreshepard



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Comedy, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 20:04:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4492914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spectreshepard/pseuds/spectreshepard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shepard can hear colours, there's coffee brewing, and Garrus Vakarian's nose becomes a significant reason for Shepard's early retirement and subsequent relocation to a place as far away from Palaven as he can get.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turian noses, and other matters of significant importance.

**Author's Note:**

> This is all the Mass Effect Network's fault. And also mine, because I had too much coffee today and I know exactly how Shepard feels.

He can hear colours. At this point, Shepard isn’t quite sure if it’s the lack of sleep or the 7 empty cups of coffee sitting in the sink that can be blamed. Either way, he can hear Garrus muttering (loudly) from the main battery, and it’s just various shades of purple, tinged with red when he screws up a calibration.

Shepard hates purple.

Purple meant talking til you were beetroot-faced, although, he wasn’t sure Garrus’ face could physically change colour. He wonders if he should ask. Maybe not. Another cup of coffee sounds like a better idea, so he reaches for the pot.

Sleeping seems like a waste of time right now, Shepard deems as he fills another mug with steaming coffee. He hopes Kaidan isn’t going to suddenly materialize. Shepard needs the coffee more than Kaidan. He considers fighting the biotic for it, but then realises Kaidan’s probably asleep, and not about to steal his precious brew.

Sipping gingerly, he lets the steam fill his vision for a second or two, noting the lights are out in the med bay. Chakwas would have a coronary if she saw Shepard downing his own body weight in caffeine right now. _“A little more optimism couldn’t hurt, Commander.”_ Shepard recalls - and subsequently supposes that caffeine is a suitable pick-me-up. If he ignores the inevitable crash and woe-betide feelings that will eventually rear their ugly, unneeded faces.

Purple seems less prevalent now, it’s more the blue sigh of the Normandy’s drive core filling the empty spaces. He vaguely wonders whether Garrus has finally given in and gone to sleep. Surely, not in the- Shepard pulls a face at the idea of sleeping in the main battery, but he’s quickly distracted by the thought that turians must sleep in uncomfortable positions anyway. Do they? There’s a lot of questions he wants to ask Garrus, but nearly all of them are the product of 3AM (galactic time) life crises. Coincidentally, he’s never actually got around to asking any of them. For reasons. Namely involving the fact his ego couldn’t take Garrus’ stupid little grin and mandible twitching just before he laughs it up for the next few light-years.

Then it’s a screech of grey as the battery doors slide open, and the subject of the moment strolls out, as cool, calm and collected as ever. Shepard balks, tempted to dump his coffee and run to the elevator. His mental barriers are way way down, and they won’t be coming back up until he gets a couple of hours sleep, at least. Considering the number of weirdly invasive questions buzzing around Shepard’s mind, Garrus just chose the worst damn moment to show his face.

Somehow, Shepard doesn’t think the mediocre size of the coffee mug is going to hide him from this particular situation, despite the fact he’s now resting his forehead against the warmth. Also possibly praying for a convenient portal to his cabin. Not today, please. Let me live this out.

“I’m not so sure the coffee’s going to tell you its deepest, darkest secrets, Shepard.” The electric blue of Garrus’ voice hums its way down the current to Shepard, who groans internally and accepts defeat in one fell swoop.

“You never know, Vakarian. I could save the _galaxy_ with this mug.” Shepard drawls a response, removing the mug from his forehead and back to the surface behind him. He does not have a plan of attack this time.

“You actually could, and that’s the scary part.” Garrus chuckles, taking a seat at the worktop bench. Shepard is staring, and Shepard knows this, but Shepard is far past the point where rational decisions can be made in split-seconds. So, Shepard deals with it. Garrus looks mildly concerned, as reflected in the sudden mandible twitching. God, _why?_

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, and he’s sitting right here.” Garrus quips, but Shepard barely registers it. Because turian noses are officially the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen in that moment. Fuck space. Turian olfactory inputs are officially the most important item on today’s list of ‘’what can I say to my best friend to make him question my entire being.’’

Shit.

Shepard never registered that they moved. They _moved_. In time with speech. Garrus is now a very painful reminder of a grey streetcat Shepard had encountered in Vancouver during his enforced stay. Except… with mandibles. Twitchy mandibles.

Garrus could be meowing for all Shepard cared right now.

Maybe he is.

Maybe Shepard really needs sleep.

Either way, Shepard is definitely going to regret the next words that come out of his mouth.

“Garrus.” Oh no. By all the powers that be, _no_. “Your nose is… really cute. That’s weird, _shit_ , that’s really-”

Shepard just stops, mid sentence. He vaguely wonders if he can smell shapes now, because that last coffee really did its work. Holy shit. Why? The minute he wakes up tomorrow, he’s getting off this ship. He’s going to retire, and move as far away as possible from Palaven. Or any distinctly Turian-related colonies. Maybe get a cat- no. Not a cat. A dog. He can call it Grunt. He’d have to cut contact with his crew, and anyone associated with Garrus, maybe get a discharge from the Alliance if he really lost his shit at someone important. Anything.

It takes Shepard a good few moments to realise Garrus is staring straight back at him, eyes shrewd and unreadable as ever. It’s only the slight twitch of the mandible that gives his humour away. That, and the unmistakeable waver in Garrus’ electric voice that follows:

“Just how long have you been awake?”

“Eight cups of coffee.” Shepard replies weakly, slumping at the counter as Garrus pats his shoulder placatingly. It’s not even a logical answer, but Shepard admits that he’s far past caring.

“Get some damn shut-eye.”

  



End file.
